Articles, Poem

Poem: A Phantom’s Lament




My love,


Death was a whisper.

Shall I say to you now

Of my loves-

Would you hear me?


You would be one.

The first of a few

If I were true

But I can’t seem to remember


The second.

A bundle of lilies.

Rot grows sweet

On frost.


Dear Mercutio did say

“Dreamers often lie”

But what of poets?

Poets lie.


I lied about your love.

The untruths do run clear here.

You never loved me.

And Hell is no more than a fire.


But I seem to confuse myself

It is an often occurrence here.

Perhaps you must have loved me

I will it.


It kills me so

That I am separate you.

I wander and wander

In the night as it drips like wax


Until I cannot move.

Is that you, my love

Standing at the window?

Hand against glass.


I hope that you may see me

But the snow does blind.

I am some schizophrenic

Trapped in an icebox.


Your rosy cheeks

And red, red lips.

Frozen by the chill

Such a flower preserved.


You sing a French lullaby

And I mourn you even more.

To you,

Death will always be lilies.


I will always be a lover

Looking through windows

To find you

In the faces of others.


It is soft

The sleep in which I walk.

Oh’ my love,

How you would love it.


Remember the days?

Remember, my love.

Please remember,

Remember me.


I am cold and this sleep

Is a drug.

But your love is what

Wakes me.


What is this phantom

Which I have become?

Obsessed with her lover

Whom she never loved.


Is life so sweet?

That you forget the dead.

I am here always

Waiting for you


To join me.


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